COLOR ME ‘FOOL’

Horrors! Horrors! I took a chance and it backfired. My prideful years of having lovely reddish hair, constant compliments had slowed to a trickle. Unaware of what my best friend, Shirley, saw, I brushed, styled, didn’t tease it. Sheepishly, reluctantly, she spoke her piece.

‘Why don’t you get rid of the gray in your hair? It is aging you too fast.’ ‘What gray, Shirl? I have blond streaks.’ A quick and hurtful retort hit me hard. ‘Believe me, Joan, your gray is showing and you aren’t fooling anybody.’ Keeping my cool, no anger, no hurt leaked from my face. The subject was simply closed.

As soon as I walked into my house, I went right upstairs to stare into my X7 magnifying mirror. Maybe Shirley was right. Admit it, Kid. That is not blond bursting out of your part, around your ears and sat there disbelieving what was right before me, feeling worse every minute.

At the sound of Don pulling into our garage, I greeted him at the front door. A tiny peck on my neck, a smile back, and I took Don’s hand and lead him into the living room, to the bay window. ‘Help me open all the louvered shades.’ The still bright sunshine smacked me in the face, warmed my hair. ‘Donny, look at me, look closely at my hair. What do you see? Be honest. How does it look to you?’ Ah, I knew he would seem baffled. ‘It looks nice, a little messed up. Don’t comb it for me. I like it when it gets really messy.’ ‘But what color is it, Donny?’ ‘What’s going on here? You know I love your red hair.’ He pinched my cheek and added, ‘All of you.’ ‘Look carefully at my part. Do you see blond or gray? ‘I’m no professional but now that you have turned me into a hair sleuth, I think I see gray.’ At that moment my die was cast.

Never a procrastinator, I waited for Donny to leave and headed to the corner drugstore to purvey the rows of hair color products. I’d never been aware of them before. Each company displayed at least a dozen colors. My mind boggled enough to send me into a spasm that needed a cup of coffee. ‘Samples of bagel chips were being given out. I indulged and felt a bit better, called Shirley on my cell. What a friend! She’d meet me in 15 minutes. Taking a box of Revlon from the shelf, she pushed the red/blond #104 on me. Yes, the beautiful girl on the box with the swirling red tresses reminded me of me. We looked no further. ‘Will you come home with me and show me what to do?’ ‘Sure, I’ve never done it myself but I’ll read the directions to you as you go step by step.’ From then on I knew I would be lying to the world and worse, to myself.

What a mess I made, ruined two nice terry towels, got a red stain on the wallpaper, destroyed my bra straps and my hair–oh, god. I couldn’t look at myself. The disaster took only 45 minutes before I was bawling like a 5 year old who lost her mommie. ‘Shirley, what can I do? I’m a flaming freak, a redhead from Redsville. It’s so ugly. I’m ugly. Donny will disown me, never walk down the street with me again..’ ‘Wash it. Maybe it will get lighter.’ Four washes and it hadn’t changed.

‘Hey, call Revlon,’ Shirley said. There’s an 800 service number on the box.’ With a sugary voice Miss Revlon apologized and offered to send me a free box of #106 immediately, with a $2 off coupon for my next purchase. ‘Please wait a full week before you re-color. The red will be much less.’ I waited, prepared to do it without Shirley. This time I did it in the buff, put newspaper over the cabinet tops and kept the washed, ruined towels close enough to reach them with my eyes closed.

#106 went on. Service department was right. The red was lighter, much lighter. In fact I became a platinum blond looking like Marilyn Monroe, at least above my eyes. Panic, Panic. Donny came home, saw his blond wife and couldn’t speak at all. His eyes barely moved from his dinner plate. Mine were leaking, running down my chin.

For a week I stayed home, wouldn’t even let Shirley visit. She called every day, sometimes twice. On the eighth day of my self-isolation she didn’t call. Instead she knocked on the front door and walked in without me inviting her. I will never forget the look on her face. She laughed so hard that I could not control myself and laughed with her. ‘Come on, Joan. You’re going with me.’ Where are you taking me, my former Best Friend? ‘ ’Shut up and I’ll tell you. You have an appointment in twenty minutes with my hairdresser. Lorraine has colored my hair once a month for six years. Now she is going to repair what you did to yourself. My treat!’ And that is just what Lorraine did. My hair truly looked like it belonged to me, minus the gray.

Yes, I was out of Revlon’s clutches but was forever after a prisoner of Lorraine and the salon and as the little gray slowly became a lot of gray, I learned to live with it.